


The right reminder at the right time

by SerotoninUp



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Bleeding through the Bandages, Episode: s01e02 Lucifer Stay Good Devil, Fluff, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer (TV) Season/Series 01, Missing Scene, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:40:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24711727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerotoninUp/pseuds/SerotoninUp
Summary: They were silent as the elevator carried them up to his private residence, and he watched Detective Decker worry at her lip with her teeth. He wondered if she was nervous about being alone with him in his home.He wondered ifhewas nervous about being alone with her in his home.
Relationships: Chloe Decker & Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 2
Kudos: 102





	The right reminder at the right time

“Please send me the address. I owe you one,” Detective Decker murmured into her phone. Lucifer didn’t miss the sudden intensity in her voice, the gleam in her eye that told him something important had just happened.

“Finally,” she muttered as she ended the call and shoved her phone into her pocket.

“Now _that_ affected you. What was it?” he inquired, leaning toward her from his seat on the piano bench, his curiosity getting the better of him. How could a simple phone call affect her this much, but his devilish charms not sway her at all?

She barely glanced at him, already turning away, seeking the exit.

“Detective,” he insisted, leaping to his feet, but she ignored him as she slipped through the small gathering of afternoon patrons. “Detective!”

Already halfway up the stairs, she turned and gave him a scathing look. In that moment some day-drunk fool beside her missed a step and stumbled, the man’s broad chest slamming against her wounded shoulder.

Lucifer was already moving toward her, and he saw her eyes widen in shock at the impact, watched her flinch reflexively away from the man and lean against the banister for support. Lucifer took the stairs two at a time and positioned himself beside her, providing a solid barrier between her body and further injury.

“Detective! Are you okay?” he asked, immediately feeling somewhat foolish for voicing the question. Her pale face, clenched jaw, and watery eyes told him she most certainly was not okay.

“I’m fine,” she managed. “Guy just bumped me, that’s all.”

“We should at least check your wound, make sure you haven’t popped a stitch,” Lucifer insisted. He wasn’t sure why he felt so worried, although it had been a rather hard bump. He simply couldn’t help feeling this strange urge to care for her.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Is this some ploy to get me to take my shirt off or something? I’m fine, Lucifer.”

She turned away, cradling her bad shoulder gently with her other hand, but Lucifer caught her slight gasp as her fingers grazed the site of the wound.

“Detective, I really do insist you let me take a look,” he said, stepping nimbly around her on the stairs to stand in her path. He held out a pleading hand. “I promise this isn’t some ruse. I have no nefarious intentions. I’m simply concerned for you, that’s all.”

She sighed at him. “Fine. But can we make it quick? I really have to leave.”

“Yes, yes, your mysterious, urgent phone call, I know,” he said. “There’s a first aid kit in the penthouse.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, and he quelled the urge to flash his most winning smile in response. Instead, he kept his expression solemn and gestured toward the elevator. “After you.”

They were silent as the elevator carried them up to his private residence, and he watched Detective Decker worry at her lip with her teeth. He wondered if she was nervous about being alone with him in his home.

He wondered if _he_ was nervous about being alone with her in his home.

How absurd. Of course he wasn’t nervous. He’d privately entertained countless people in the penthouse. This was no different, except that they’d both be keeping their clothes on. Unfortunate, that.

When the elevator doors slid open, he ducked behind the bar, looking for the first aid kit. “Have a seat anywhere you like, Detective,” he offered, waving his hand in the general vicinity of the couch.

She did, perching awkwardly on the edge of the smooth leather seat. Lucifer snagged the first aid kit from its hiding place and carried it over to her, setting it down on the coffee table before taking a seat beside her, careful not to jostle her too much in case it caused her more pain.

“Let’s get this off you,” he said, reaching for the clasp on the sling’s strap.

She quickly batted his hand away. “I got it, thanks.”

Lucifer held up his hands in mock surrender. “Very well, Detective. Just trying to help.”

She carefully freed her arm from the sling and tugged her cardigan off her shoulder, revealing a sleeveless blouse, a beige bra strap, and the tape-lined edge of a gauze pad that disappeared beneath her shirt. A splotch of bright crimson marred the fabric.

“Damn it,” she sighed. “I guess he hit me harder than I thought.”

“I think you’re going to have to take your shirt off anyway, Detective,” he teased.

It was the wrong thing to say. Her gaze darkened, and she yanked her cardigan sleeve back up to cover herself once more.

“I don’t have time for this,” she hissed at him, snatching up the sling before getting to her feet and taking a step backwards toward the elevator. “I have a crime scene to get to. I don’t know why I let you convince me to come up here anyway.”

“Detective, wait,” Lucifer protested. He stayed seated on the couch, not wanting to alarm her further. “You’re still bleeding.”

“Then I guess I’ll just let it bleed until I can get it looked at by an actual doctor instead of some shady club owner,” she retorted.

“Look, no more inappropriate comments,” Lucifer said, raising his right hand as if swearing an oath. “I promise.”

Detective Decker glared at him, and he nodded at the couch, silently encouraging her to sit back down. She huffed her exasperation at him, but finally resumed her seat.

“I think you’re right, though,” she said, her voice flat. “The shirt needs to come off.” She shrugged out of her cardigan and gave him a dour look. “Try to contain yourself, okay?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up in amusement, but he nodded his agreement. “Do you need my help?”

She didn’t like admitting it; he could tell by the way she clenched her jaw before she nodded. “Yeah.”

Together, they managed to get the shirt off her with minimal disturbance to her shoulder. Lucifer refrained from making any more commentary and resolutely directed his gaze to the blood-soaked gauze taped to her skin, not allowing his eyes to linger any lower than that.

“How do you manage this by yourself at home?” he asked. He slipped her bra strap off her shoulder, trying to ignore the tantalizing warmth and softness of her skin, and began to peel back the edge of the tape.

“Trixie helps me,” she explained. “She likes pretending to be my nurse.”

Lucifer smirked at that. He certainly wouldn’t mind playing nurse with her, either. And she must have understood the source of his amusement, because she gave him that _look_ again.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

He grinned at her, unabashed. “I am trying my best. I haven’t even looked at your breasts, you know. I think that’s very commendable of me.”

The Detective dropped her face into her good hand and groaned. “Can you get on with it, please?”

Lucifer chuckled at the long-suffering tone of her voice, but he complied, stripping the last of the tape from her shoulder and pulling the soaked gauze pad away to inspect the wound beneath.

“Well, none of your stitches seem to have ripped,” he announced. “But the wound itself looks a bit beat up.”

He popped the lid off the first-aid kit and pulled out alcohol pads, tape, and fresh gauze. Ripping open the wrapper on a pad, he gave the Detective a sidelong glance.

“My apologies, Detective Decker, but I’ve heard this can sting a bit,” he warned her.

“I know,” she said with a grimace. “Let’s just get it over with.”

He set about cleaning the blood from the wound, and she hissed at the sudden burn as the alcohol swiped over raw skin. Lucifer’s stomach did an odd little flip at the sound.

“Sorry,” he murmured, tossing the used pad onto his coffee table.

“It’s okay,” she said, watching his hands as he carefully positioned and taped a fresh square of gauze to her shoulder. “You’re good at this,” she remarked, a hint of surprise in her tone.

Lucifer shrugged. “Well, I do run a nightclub, Detective. Drunks are very accident-prone.”

She laughed a little at that, and a satisfied warmth spread through his chest at the sound.

His ministrations complete, Lucifer dropped his hands to his knees. “Good as new, Detective,” he proclaimed. It earned him another smile, one that sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. He quite enjoyed making her smile like that.

Once more, he assisted her with her shirt, and when she was fully clothed with her arm settled carefully in the sling, Lucifer stood and offered his hand, helping her to her feet.

“Thanks for fixing me up,” she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ears.

“You’re very welcome,” he answered. He followed her to the elevator and pressed the Down button.

When the doors slid open, she stepped inside, and furrowed her brow in confusion when he began to enter with her. “Going somewhere?” she asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Well, I thought I’d accompany you on your secretive errand,” he suggested.

She rolled her eyes at him, pushing him back into the penthouse with her good arm. “You’re not a cop, Lucifer,” she reminded him. “You can’t just come with me to crime scenes.”

“Detective, wait,” he protested. That new, unfamiliar urge had returned, the one that told him to stay with her, watch her back, keep her safe.

But Detective Decker only shook her head and waved him farewell with a cheeky grin as the elevator doors slid shut.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt fill for Bad Things Happen Bingo. Prompt: Bleeding Through the Bandages.  
> Title from “Your Misfortune” by Mike Doughty.  
> Thanks for reading!


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